


Better The Devil You Know

by ectoBisexual



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Bottom Gerard Way, Bounty Hunters, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Violence, which has its own tag omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6762577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectoBisexual/pseuds/ectoBisexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how Frank Iero ends up in a car with a demon at 11 at night in the San Francisco bay area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better The Devil You Know

It has been two years, three months, and eleven days since Frank Iero first started dating a demon, and in all and complete honesty, he’s still not used to the mornings.

“Are we going? Please tell me you’re ready to go— _Frank._ ”

Frank grunts in response, pushing his taller—and stronger—boyfriend out of the way. He goes like a fly, which is saying something; there aren’t too many people Gerard Way lets push him around like that, and it’s a miracle that Frank even gets away with it when he’s half asleep. He pulls on his boots slowly, not in tune with the day yet. Morning feels like fire settling under his skin. He tries to run over his schedule in his mind just for something to do, but in his present state of consciousness, all he can remember is that he’s got to go to the drycleaner’s at two.

The drycleaner’s. Otherwise known as his demon boyfriend’s meticulous little brother, Mikey, who will spend the next two hours trying to get the blood out of Frank’s clothing.

God, he loves his job.

“Wakey wakey, death and bacon, asshole,” Gerard remarks fondly. He’s leaning against the doorframe to Frank’s bedroom, looking 160 pounds of stunning and dangerous. Which, of course, he looks perfectly smug about. Frank doesn’t even have to look at his hair; he can feel the bird’s-nest weight of it on top of his head.

“What time is it?” he grunts.

Gerard twists his lips. “Eight. Hardly eight. Still early, if only you would pull your ass from bed.”

“Ugh. We got to bed late last night. How insane are you? Wait—don’t actually answer that.”

His boyfriend laughs musically, even going so far as to lower his lashes and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Frank doesn’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose anymore, the pretty-boy gestures he uses to get his own way. Probably. Maybe not. Frank’s a sucker for gorgeous jerks, isn’t he?

“We’ve gotta track down the Crouch brothers before 12 if you wanna try and start the second half of the list. Shit, do you even care about making bonuses anymore?”

Frank makes a noncommittal grunting noise in reply. He’s used to Gerard’s bitching. And he does care about bonuses, but only because it means extra money. Extra money means a lesser likelihood of Gerard trying to acquire it through… less than honest alternative means. Plus, having enough to live comfortably is nice. One day he’d even like to move out of his shithole apartment and buy a house.

“Aw, you wanna build a family? Should we get a dog?”

“Fuck off,” Frank says, thinking as hard as he can about car crashes, old people, Mikey naked. Gerard disappears from the room laughing to himself. Demon boyfriends with mindreading skills: on the list of Frank’s pet peeves, this sits somewhere at the top.

He eventually follows the smell of coffee out of the dark sanctity of his bedroom, where Gerard is sitting with his feet propped up on the table and his nose stuffed in their electronic planner. Frank remembers the gist of what remains on the bounty list, almost off by heart, and knows Gerard does too. He spares a glance over his shoulder on his way around to pour coffee anyway. He’s on the Crouch Brothers’ profile, reading over their individual weapons info.

“We better have this done by lunch,” he grunts. He takes a long sip of the coffee, feeling more awake already.

“We will, don’t sweat. Relax,” Gerard murmurs, brow still furrowed as he pours over the information.

Frank grunts again.

“Relax,” the other repeats, finally standing from his seat. He steps over to Frank to plant a kiss on his cheek, delicate and just below his cheekbone, and gently removes the now-empty mug from his hand. “It’ll be a quick job, and then one more and we can call it quits for the day.” Frank thinks about the logistics of this. He’s been so, so tired lately, with all their early morning starts and late night finishes, rushing to get through the lists. Five full lists by the end of October, and then they’ll be in the clear for a while. It’s hardly the worst job in the world.

Frank kind of misses when they first started seeing each other. Back before they were colleagues, partners, whatever. Back when Gerard was just an image of black and smoke in a crowded room and Frank wanted nothing more than to shove him against the nearest wall. Gerard had been stronger than him. Frank still sweats at the memory of it.

He’s tired, now, but he wants to get it done. One more list; one more short, easy list after this one. He deserves a vacation.

 “You wanna go somewhere nice for dinner?” Gerard offers.

Frank looks at him. His demon, at least, will always be here to take care of him.

“…Yeah,” he says.

.

The first time Frank Iero had ever laid eyes on his boyfriend, he had been sent to kill him.

Back before he was a bounty hunter for rogue demons, he hunted everything. Demons, vampires, monsters of all kind and anything less than natural plaguing his general vicinity. It was commission work, mostly, people who wanted to get rid of the supernatural like they were all pests (which Frank had thought they were, at the time.) He didn’t understand the distinction back then, or even that there was more work outside of his tiny group of hunters.

He was in the San Francisco bay area in the first place purely for non-work purposes, following around a band he had been trying to find time to see for ages. For once, he didn’t want work to get in the way.

He is twenty minutes from the venue when he gets the call.

“What,” Frank answers, because he knows exactly who’s calling, and he really can’t be bothered.

“Um, rude,” Ray accuses, sounding less than affronted on the other end of the line. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“I figured. Can it wait?”

“No.” Ray doesn’t hesitate, which means it probably _is_ serious, and shit—Frank was really looking forward to seeing this band. He stops and turns around, heads for a park bench and gets out his notepad.

“Alright, lay it on me.”

“We’ve been getting complaints about a demon appearance at a bar in Oakland. Couple of patrons reported a guy with black eyes stealing their partners, flirting and manipulation into giving up cash, all the usual demon shenanigan stuff.”

“Incubus?”

Ray pauses on the other end. “It’s…something.”

“Uh-huh. And you want me to take care of it?”

“I know you’re in the area. If you wouldn’t mind, it would be really helpful.”

He sighs. Checking the time, he figures he still has a few hours before the band he wants to see is actually going to come out. He could get the job done quickly, grab a quick drink. Yeah, Frank figures. He could still make it.

“Alright. You owe me, Ray.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get it done quietly, Frank. Apparently it’s… _persuasive_.”

Frank hangs up.

He thinks as he walks to the bar. Persuasive is just another word for slutty, if he’s going off of past experience. Curvy women with glossy hair and smooth skin, tall dark guys who want you to come back to their place for _one drink, just a drink, gorgeous, come on._ He’s been on the tail end of something tall, dark, and perfectly fucking evil before. Frank considers himself immune. This will be a piece of cake.

Ray texts him the address and the person to look for. He makes it to the bar in no time, pushing his hair back and scanning the area. He knows who to look for, but he’s careful about surveying everyone else, too, just in case the demon scum decided to bring backup. He’s fallen for _that one_ before. He’s just about to give up, seriously considering texting Ray to ask if this is all a big joke. He’s going to, in fact, leave and do just that, when he sees the demon.

He’s sitting across the bar, and he’s looking right at Frank.

 

Frank fights the urge to swallow. One ounce of fear, one bead of sweat, one twitch of his hand, and he’ll give himself away. And seriously, he’s not a _rookie._ He’s certainly not Bob, the asshole who worked for them for about a week before Ray and the others booted him. Unlike the incompetent variety, Frank is very good at his job, thank you very much. So he feigns indifference, gaze sliding smoothly over the guy as if he were no more than another stranger in a crowded bar. He sits down and orders a drink.

The demon turns his attention back to some poor blonde girl fiddling with her hair. Frank maintains to keep a strong side-eye on the guy, pretending to be very focussed on the beer in front of him. Apparently, he’s still in the demon’s radar of thought; every now and then Frank catches him throwing a side-eye his way. It makes his heart stop every time.

He tells himself he’s not nervous. From this distance, he can kind of make out the general appearance of the guy, as per Ray’s description down to a tee. Taller than him, red hair that hasn’t met the business end of a hairbrush in Christ knows how long. Frank can see from here that he’s attractive, but attractive doesn’t mean anything when it comes to demons. Demons either inhabit the bodies of those strong enough to sustain possession but weak enough to lose the fight, or, if they’re strong enough, they conjure up their own physical form. Frank doubts it’s the latter. If the guy is hanging around in a bar like this for _demonic reasons,_ he probably doesn’t know what he’s doing. Making himself far too obvious for any hunter with a good sense. Frank tries his hardest not to smirk into his glass. He’ll have the job done in ten minutes, tops.

Frank scans the room again, just to be sure there isn’t anything else warranting his concern. There’s a borderline-scary attractive girl pushed against one of the back walls, talking the pants off of some poor pale boy, who catches Frank’s eye for a minute, but he brushes it off. Vampires are way too flamboyant to ever wear plaid, and demons are particular. Dark eyes, even when they’re playing human. Purposefully attractive, designed to get what they want—

“My, my. What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Frank spins around so suddenly he suffers momentary whiplash. While his hand flies to his neck, and his mouth chokes out some noise that’s halfway caught between pain and confusion, the demon starts to smirk. Frank curses himself for dropping his guard for even a second.

“Do I know you?”

The demon _tsk_ s. “No way to treat a gentleman. I was just coming over here to tell you that your eyes are like diamonds, y’know. No need to be cold.”

“Are these pick-up lines you use on everyone?” Frank challenges, feeling himself begin to smirk back as he regains his presence of mind. “Or am I special?”

Something darkens in the demon’s eyes. Yes, Frank decides: the hunt is on.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ve already got one.”

“Another, then. You in a hurry?”

Frank lets the demon slide his body between the end of the bar and Frank’s. He tries not to notice it (slim in black fabric, filling out illegally-tight skinny jeans) but the way the guy’s leaning, ass out and elbows on the counter, Frank figures he wants him to look, anyway. After what feels like an eternity, he drags his eyes back to eye-level. The demon’s already waiting, head titled like a smug puppy. “Something catch your eye?”

“Can I help you, or…?”

“I’m buying you a _drink,_ ” the guy laughs—a real laugh, not the flirty, dark chuckle Frank was expecting, which does something weird to his chest for a second. The demon laughs for a good ten seconds, shaking his head like he’s bewildered. “Jesus, you’re tough.”

Frank doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s still waiting for another line, another opportunity to evade the evil creature’s ways of flirtation, or whatever. The demon spins back around a moment later, another beer in hand. He gestures to Frank’s half-empty one. “Mind if I sit down?”

“You bought me a drink,” Frank says in answer, meaning ‘why not’. The demon wastes no time in sliding into the seat opposite Frank, chin propped up on his hand.

“So,” he says, eyes glittering.

“So,” Frank repeats, playing the game.

“I really can’t tell if you’re playing hard to get, or if you genuinely want me to fuck off.”

That surprises Frank. There doesn’t seem to be any game there, any pick-up line; the guy’s serious. He must catch Frank’s confusion, because he sticks out a hand.

“Gerard,” he says, with utter sincerity. It takes Frank a moment to will up the mind-power to reach out his own hand.

“Frank,” he offers. In his confusion, he forgets to give a fake name.

“Frank,” the demon—Gerard—repeats, forming the one syllable word around his teeth and tongue like it’s a weapon, offering it back to him honey-sweet and raspy in tone and smirk. “I’ll be honest with you, Frank, because you’re cute. I didn’t buy you a drink because I’m a nice guy. I have anything but honest intentions, but it’s completely up to you what you decide to do with them. Laying it all out on the table here. Have a drink with me. Just one, then you can decide if I’m as annoying as you seem to think. I’ll go right away. Just one drink.”

Frank stares at him openly. “Just one?” he clarifies, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The demon grins. This time it’s with all his teeth, so Frank can see where one is chipped at the corner, a little crooked, endearingly so. He’s got a lopsided smile, he realises. It’s so weird, so shatteringly different to everything else that’s attractive about him, that Frank reels.

He must be staring, because when his eyes flit back to Gerard’s face, he’s staring, eyes not having strayed from Frank’s the entire time. He runs a hand through the back of his hair, and he’s got an undercut, an _undercut,_ for God’s sake, like he knows Frank’s brand. He’s screwed. He is absolutely, royally screwed.

“Just one,” he confirms, and the demon’s face lights up.

.

“Dude, no, I agree. Music, is like, sacred, y’know? If you’re gonna be in a band, you should at least give a shit about what your lyrics are saying.”

“Lyrics are pointless without a decent guitar to back it up, though.”

“Dude— _yes._ It’s like, what’s the point, if you may as well be writing poetry.”

“Just go and write poetry if you wanna write poetry!”

Frank jostles Gerard in the shoulder, grinning ear to ear. Gerard’s grinning, too, swaying with the movement of Frank’s blow to his shoulder. “You get it, man,” Frank says, shaking his head with a grin. “You totally understand.”

“I totally get it,” Gerard agrees, taking a swig from his own beer. Frank isn’t sure when he stopped taking tentative sips at his drink and started actually downing it, leaning comfortably into the guy—the _demon,_ he corrects, remembers—like they’ve known each other for years.

“You actually have great taste in music,” Frank tells him again, possibly for the hundredth time.

“You too, you’re great.” Gerard’s grinning lopsidedly again. He’s probably not as drunk as Frank, considering the fact that he’s still getting all of his sentences out in the correct order, but there’s clearly a blush to his cheeks,  spreading gradually and blotchily across his pretty cheekbones. Frank keeps staring at his mouth, forgetting where he is.

“How about another drink?” Gerard offers, calling Frank’s attention back to his eyes again. “It’s still kinda early, right?”

“Yeah, what time…” Frank trails off. It’s at this moment that Frank remember the whole reason he’s in the Bay area in the first place, and panic flares in his blood.

“ _Shit,_ ” he swears, fumbling to get his phone out of his pocket. It’s 11. Shit, shit, shit. “They’re on in like ten minutes. They’ll have shut the doors by now—”

“Whoa, dude, chill,” Gerard says, watching Frank’s meltdown through half-lidded eyes. “Are you late for something?”

“I was meant to be seeing this band—”

“How far away are they?”

“I—” Frank falls short of something to say. “It’s a fifteen minute walk.”

Gerard sets down his drink. “I can get you in.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious.” His gaze flattens a little, sizing Frank up. “Tell me the way. I’ll drive you. I know nearly everyone around here, I’m sure I can pull some strings.”

“What, are you famous, or something?” Frank sneers. He knows he’s being rude, an antithesis to everything else he’s set out in their past hour of random, weird bonding, but—but seriously, the guy’s a demon, anyway. Frank’s meant to be hunting him, not discussing _bands_ —

“Trust me.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

Gerard’s eyes glitter. “Are you always this rude?”

“Are you always this… this…” Frank starts to stutter.

“This..?”

“ _Attractive?_ ”

Gerard shuts up. Frank shuts up, too, leaning back in his seat and letting all the blood in his body rush towards his face. He’s just about to get up and flee, actually _bested by a demon,_ when Gerard starts to smile.

“I can get you in,” he says again, his grin sharp enough to cut through diamond. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Frank.”

.

This is how Frank Iero ends up in a car with a demon at 11 at night in the San Francisco bay area. He sits stiff and upright in his seat, clinging to the seatbelt for dear life as the death machine roars to life beneath him. He half expects Gerard not to know how to drive, or for flames to shoot from the exhaust pipe of his car or something, but the best he gets is a worried side-eye as the demon slides smoothly out of the bar parking lot. Frank continues to cling to his seatbelt nevertheless, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You’re gonna have to direct me,” Gerard reminds him, when Frank remains silent. He scrambles even further upright in his seat, causing Gerard—ironically—to jump.

“Left up here,” he says, barking out the order. “It’s four blocks away.”

Gerard follows his direction. Frank still isn’t sure what’s going on.

By the time they get there, the doors are definitely shut, a bouncer the size of a boulder looming ominously out front. Frank begins to sag in the car seat, already taunted by the cheers coming from inside. Apparently unperturbed, however, Gerard unbuckles his seatbelt. “Wait here,” he says coolly, shutting the door and heading for the bouncer. Because he’s a demon. Demon powers. Right.

Frank’s phone goes off in his pocket, scaring him half to death. He finally scrambles to answer it, so shaken he forgets to check who it is.

“Yeah?”

“Frank, Jesus, man, are you alright? We haven’t heard back from you.”  
“Ray,” he says, hearing his voice crack. He clears his throat, gaze racing to Gerard outside, who is leaning against the wall next to the bouncer, seemingly chatting him up.

“Well?” Ray says, still sounding worried. “Did you handle the demon?”

“Um…” Frank watches as the bouncer begins to laugh outside, his tough exterior melting away as if he’s nothing more than a tightly muscled kitten. “I got him out of the bar.”

“That’s great, man. Should we head over, or have you got this one covered?”

Gerard turns his head back to the car, grinning and waving Frank over. Frank raises a hand to wave back, feeling faint. “I think I’ve got this one.”

“Cool. Well, call us if you need anything.”

“Right.”

Ray hangs up. The sound of the click over the other line sounds like a death sentence.

Frank gets out of the car on shaky legs, suddenly feeling a lot more sober. He heads towards the bouncer with caution, still expecting a trick, maybe a demon gang of some kind.

“I told you it was fine,” Gerard says, his coquettish tone suddenly back. “Come on, man. You’ll miss them if you move that slow.”

Frank follows him through the open door, shooting a suspicious glance back at the bouncer as he does so. The guy is back to his scary self, glaring heavily at Frank as he shuts the door behind him. Inside is loud and  humid, the sweat and sound of a thousand eager bodies milling towards the stage area, floors already sticky with spilled drinks.

“These guys had better be good,” Gerard shouts over the noise, some of the words getting lost in the roar of the crowd. He shouts something else then, something Frank doesn’t catch, so he shouts a broken but distinct “what” back at him.

He doesn’t expect Gerard to lean down to murmur in his ear, lips so close they summon goosebumps to his skin. “I said, you’re welcome for getting you in. I understand if you think you owe me.” He leans back to wiggle his eyebrows. Frank punches him in the shoulder.

He heads through the crowd then, telling himself he doesn’t care if Gerard follows, but checking back over his shoulder anyway. Gerard is following him, anyway, weaving his way through the crowd with much more ease than Frank is finding. Whether that’s because he’s a demon, or just because he’s attractive, Frank doesn’t know. He tells himself he doesn’t care again, and tries to focus on getting to the front. It’s the only time his height comes in handy.

Minutes later he finds himself near the front of the stage, where the band are still warming up, microphones screeching and guitars humming out broken notes of songs. Frank’s blood hums beneath his skin. He feels the excitement setting in, that carefree brand of _fuck yes_ he gets when he’s around decent music. He’s so involved in it that he doesn’t even protest when Gerard slides up beside him, so close their hips press together, and rests a hand on his lower back for a count of three seconds. Frank expects to be cold when he pulls away, cold where he touched, but he’s not; every inch of him burns red hot.

The band starts. Every ounce of stress that Frank was carrying on his back melts away with all the noise of it, bodies bumping into bodies as people start to jump and dance. He knows his throat will sting later, but fuck it. That’s the general consensus of his whole evening, anyway.

So he doesn’t protest when Gerard starts dancing with him, too, their bodies moving in on each other, hands everywhere, hair everywhere. He feels it when the water hits the crowd, sees it stick in Gerard’s hair, among sweat, properly, so that he has to slick it back against his forehead. Gerard’s chest finds his, and his hands find Gerard’s hips. And then they’re kissing, hot and wet and messy in the middle of the crowd, bodies jostling into them, and Frank’s blood _sings._

Because fuck it. Frank is beyond reasoning tonight.

.

When the show is over he stumbles out with Gerard, hip to hip and already thinking of pushing him up against a flat surface somewhere hot and dark. Music still hums within his veins, making his whole body feel electrified, skin buzzing as if from the aftermath of an electric shock. He can smell Gerard, the musk of him, sweat and aftershave and something light and sweet he can’t put a name to, something pleasant and demonic and intoxicating. They don’t make it to the car. Gerard drags him into an alleywal.

Frank’s heart starts to hammer. He does it so efficiently, tugging him from a crowded parking lot to a dark, noise-muffling alleyway in less than a moment, with overreaching fire escapes and apartment complexes blocking out any natural light from the moon. For a second, Frank thinks he’ll have to fight, that this was Gerard’s plan all along, to seduce him and then dump his dead body in an alleyway in downtown San Francisco. He feels a body press against his, backing him up until he hits the wall. Before the fear has time to register to his fight or flight defences, he feels a warm pair of lips at his ear.

“Come home with me,” Gerard murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Frank’s ear. A shiver rolls through him at the feeling. He stands there as his eyes adjust to the darkness, as some of the moonlight registers in the cramped space and he can finally make out Gerard’s form in front of him, dim grey in the alley but eyes alight.

Frank tips his head back against the brick wall with a worrying thump when the demon ducks his head back down, lips brushing over the white of his throat, biting back a moan at the gentle sensation. “I can’t,” he gasps, meaning it with every inch of his body and hating himself for wanting to anyway.

To his surprise, Gerard pulls back. Then, like a light switch has been flipped, he grins.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I know you’re a hunter, and I know you know I’m a demon.”

There’s a beat where neither of them moves or says anything. Frank lets his words sink in, the cogs of his brain clicking into place slowly, catching up with his situation. When he finally regains his senses, he punches Gerard in the face.

The demon cries out, hand flying to his nose as crimson spurts between his fingers. Frank’s knuckles immediately cry out at the fervency of the impact, knuckles raw and definitely bruised. In a second, Frank has him against the wall, the knife he was keeping in his boot pressed against Gerard’s throat. The demon’s eyes follow down the line of the blade, eventually ending on Frank’s, slightly narrowed and waiting, calculating. When he swallows, the bob of his throat nicks against the serrated edge of the knife, a bead of blood springing to life. Frank’s arms shake with the effort not to remove the knife or kill him or both.

“What game are you playing?” he hisses, pressing the arm across Gerard’s chest harder to show that he’s serious. Rather than succumbing to the threat, Gerard laughs.

“That’s a little clichéd, Iero.”

“I’m _serious._ How do you know who I am?”

“Mind-reader,” Gerard says, matter of fact. He looks almost born at the admittance. “I’ve been listening on and off to your thoughts all night.”

Frank pales at the thought. Then, immediately, blood rises to his cheeks. “Then—”

“Oh, yes, I know very well how badly you want to get me in bed. Been thinking about it all night.” He grins, the sharp gleam to his crooked smile showing. “You’re kind of wild, Frank.”

“Shut up. I could kill you, right here, right now, you know. Give me one reason I shouldn’t.”

Gerard shrugs. “I can’t. You have every right to. I’m a filthy, leering, evil creature of the night, right?” His eyes glimmer in the dark, and the grin is back. “That must be why I’ve been buying you drinks all night, and went out of my way to get you into your gig. All a part of my evil ways.”

“Why _did_ you help me?” Frank presses, fingers twitching on the knife. “What do you want?”

“You’re cute,” Gerard says, like it’s obvious. “Jesus. Can’t a demon buy a guy a drink around here without getting the knife-degree?”

“So you were playing me,” he says, eyes narrowing as he realises it. “Reading my thoughts all night, seducing me with your demon powers. What, do you could kill me, get me into bed?”

“I just wanted your number, you know,” Gerard says, looking partway between bored and offended at the accusation. “Pretty guy like you rates better than an alleyway.” Frank feels the blood rush to his cheeks, but Gerard goes on, unperturbed. “And I wasn’t seducing you with my demon powers, for the record.” He sniffs. “Though I appreciate the compliment.”

“Shut up,” Frank says again, tightening his grip on the knife. “I could kill you,” he reminds him, though even to his own ears, the threat sounds weak.

Gerard rolls his eyes, playing along. “I know, you told me that part. I wouldn’t, however, if you value your ass. For a hunter, you’re not very attentive. Newbie, I guess.”

Frank feels the confusion spread over his features—then panicked anger. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Gerard’s eyes glimmer. “We’re not alone, darling.”

Before Frank has a chance to do anything else, the knife is out of his grip, and a pair of strong arms are pinning him down. He struggles fruitlessly, scrabbling at porcelain skin, before the grip tightens and immobilises him completely. His eyes flit up to his captor, heart hammering in his throat. It’s the girl from the bar, dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail to keep the blood out of it, which is now blotted at the corner of her mouth, and smeared across her collarbone. Vampire.

“How long were you planning on standing there, Lindsey?” Gerard rolls his eyes fondly, leaning against the alley wall like he’s got all the time in the world. Frank thrashes again, and the vampire—Lindsey—tightens her grip.

“How long were you planning on letting the shrimp keep you pinned?” she retorts, folding her words around a grin just as sharp and crooked as Gerard’s.

“He had a knife,” Gerard defends, idly kicking at the now discarded weapon with the toe of his shoe.

Lindsey scoffs. “Right, knives. Your kryptonite.”

Gerard shrugs. “I don’t mind being pinned.”

“I’m kinkshaming,” Lindsey declares, expression falling flat. The two of them seem to remember Frank then, Lindsey’s eyes flitting down to where he’s still trying to strain against her arms. She grins. “Saw you in the bar earlier. I totally appreciated the whole leaving me alone thing, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t it normally more your type’s style to harass? Or were you not in for business?”

Frank’s eyes fly to Gerard, who’s still leaning against the wall, watching him lazily. “He was in to tell me to stay away from the bay area bar scene. Thinks I kick up too much of a fuss among the patrons, or something.”

“You’re cheating them out of money! And… God knows what else, you slimy fucker.” Gerard’s eyebrow twitches at the insult, but he lets Frank go on. “That’s probably what you were planning on doing to me, seducing me into… into whatever heinous things you have planned. So… show your true face, demon, or…” _Shit,_ he thinks, suddenly forgetting _every_ word of Latin he’s ever been taught. What’s he meant to do when something like this _actually_ happens?

“I told you,” Gerard says, looking annoyed now, “I didn’t _seduce_ you.”

“Yeah,” says Lindsey. “That one’s all on you, dude. Apparently you’re just super gay for guys in skinny jeans.”

“Among my other charming features,” Gerard protests, pouting. Frank almost _feels_ the eye roll the vampire gives in return. “And this is my ‘true face’,” the demon adds, actually looking offended at this one. “Honestly, how rude.”

“Maybe it’s the true face of whatever poor human you possessed,” Frank spits, “but not for you, not for your—your lack of soul, or what-the-fuck-ever—”

“ _Possessed,_ ” Gerard spits, affronted. “I didn’t _possess_ anyone. This is my _face._ ”

“They really don’t train you at hunters’ academy, or wherever,” Lindsey snarks.

“Look,” Frank says, panic setting in now, cleanly past the confusion. “I don’t care. Just let me go—”

“Lindsey only has you pinned because you let her,” Gerard interrupts.

“Also, because you were waving a knife around my best friend’s throat. You made him bleed in two places, hunter. That’s a pretty big feat for such a high level demon, y’know.”

Gerard shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Again,” Lindsey said, not breaking eye contact with Frank, “consider yourself kinkshamed.”

She lets Frank go roughly, so that he stumbles and has to regain his balance on a wall. Gerard continues to watch him all the while, still resting a few metres away, surveying the whole scene carefully. “Are you fine to handle this on your own, or do you need me to nanny you some more?” Lindsey asks, jerking her chin at Frank, who is scrambling for his knife again.

Gerard shrugs, arms still folded. “I can handle myself, princess.”

“That’s a compliment, that.” Her eyes gleam. Frank half expects her to leap back up onto the fire escape she descended from, graceful like the bat she is, but all she does is wave them off and stalk out of the alleyway, hips swaying in her plaid skirt.

“We used to date,” Gerard explains, when the silence gets too much.

“Excuse me?”

“Me and Linds. My best friend, who nearly ripped your head off.”

Frank splutters. “You—she’s a _vampire,_ ” he spits, knowing he sounds stupid, because it goes against everything he’s ever been taught. Gerard grins.

“A little species-ist, are we?”

“You are way too charming to be a demon. Seriously. That, and the fuckin’— _hair_ —”

“Some demons were angels once, too,” he reminds Frank, eyes darkening. Frank swallows. He doesn’t move when Gerard steps towards him once, then another step, so Gerard moves all the way in, reaching a hand to touch under Frank’s chin. “Drop the knife,” he murmurs.

Frank does as he’s told. Gerard moves in, crowding his body against the wall. Frank’s beginning to think he has a thing for that, pinning or being pinned, but lets him do it nonetheless, kind of liking the trill it places in his blood. Gerard keeps moving in until his lips are below Frank’s ear again, but just lets them sit there, breathing, waiting for Frank to make the next move.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts.

Gerard pulls back. “Huh?”

“For thinking you were a possessed body.” His gaze darkens. “I’m not sorry for trying to kill you, though. Asshole.”

“Hey, man, you’re the one who’s attracted to assholes.” Gerard raises his hands in surrender.

“Fuck off.”

He grins. “Seems like we share the taste in men, though.”

“Fuck _you._ ”

“Please,” Gerard snarks, and the next thing Frank knows he’s crushing their lips together.

Gerard still tastes like the vaguely sweet beer he was drinking, sharp and warm and wet, and presses their bodies tighter together without thinking. As if everything from their night is catching up at once, Frank rolls his hips against Gerard’s, hissing at the friction and letting his teeth scrape along the Gerard’s bottom lip. He lets out an involuntary moan into Gerard’s mouth when he feels the demon respond, his own hips pushing up against Franks, tongue hot in his mouth.

Gerard pulls away so suddenly that Frank gets dizzy, trying to make sense of his surroundings and grabbing at open air when Gerard steps back. “I’ll stay away from the bar for a while, won’t let you get in trouble,” he says, grinning lopsidedly.

“Wh—”

“See you around, Iero.”

Before Frank can get another word in, Gerard is gone, having ducked out in the darker corner of the alleyway. He stands there for a moment just thinking the night over, borderline shocked and horrified at himself for the night’s events. It gradually becomes clear that the demon isn’t coming back, and that Frank is just standing in an empty alleyway, hating himself.

Picking up what’s left of his pride, he heads home.


End file.
